


A Night's Hunt

by ruinous_spells



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Romance, Self-Acceptance, self-actualization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-30 23:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20455709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruinous_spells/pseuds/ruinous_spells
Summary: Before the Warrior of Light there was only Amoret Mewrilah, a renowned thaumaturge, adventurer and solitary hunter treading a road of uncertainty. Plagued by the Echo and wary of the Scions’ intentions, the renowned adventurer attempts to return to a simple life of her own making. However, a quest into the icy and unforgiving lands of Coerthas to apprehend a thief, vaults her back onto a hero’s dangerous road. Will she accept her fate as Hydaelyn's Chosen? And what of this Ishgardian thief?





	A Night's Hunt

_**T**_he missive had arrived with the moon’s light and a not-so-enthused sleepy toot of a moogle’s horn in the Twelveswood tavern of Buscarron’s Druthers. A resourceful bounty hunter was required in the frigid Central Highlands of Coerthas to nab a thief. Usually these official missives went into great detail of their client’s plight, however this particular one was bone dry; no more than rendezvous coordinates, estimate pay upon recovery in the allotted time of a week and a scratchy signature at the very bottom.

“Ser Alberic?” read the young adventurer, flipping the letter over onto its front expectantly. Not a wax seal, stamp, or even a written address was to be found. “Well this is immensely curious.”

A warm chuckle accompanied the steamy pour of freshly pressed coffee into a chipped mug. “Never had the pleasure of dealing with the knights of Ishgard before, I see?” 

From beneath the tattered wide brim of a conical hat, Amoret Mewrilah - known locally by less savory folk as Amoret of the Black - peered up from her favorite table to her host with bright amethyst eyes and a hesitant smile. “Can’t say I have. Truthfully, I’ve never had reason to travel that far north. Though from my understanding, the Ishgardians prefer to deal with their own fugitives.”

Which begged the question: Why seek out a bounty hunter that hailed from Gridania? 

As a miqo’te born under the pale light of the goddess Menphina, Amoret was well-versed in the night’s hunt. Though she may have preferred flowing robes to leather leggings, and a focusing staff to the spear, she was no less a huntress with an impeccable record. But still, Amoret was no Ishgardian and it was common knowledge the northern folk did not take kindly to outsiders.

Buscarron had walked out from behind the bar to set Amoret’s coffee down beside her half-eaten plate of nightly breakfast. Tall and broad, the midlander scratched at his stubbly chin. “Well you aren’t missing out on much. Unfriendly, the lot of ‘em. If you think the prejudice in Gridania is a lot to be subjected to, then allow me to give you some sound advice before you begin this adventure?”

Amoret lanced the last boar sausage off her plate. “Go on, then,” she chewed, tilting her hat’s brim back for their eyes to meet.

With a long stretch and gruff yawn, Buscarron took the seat across from Amoret, draping one arm across a knee in a comfortable lean toward her. “You and I have been friends for a couple of years now. I know you’re a good lass and so when I heard you were previously studying black magic back in Ul’dah-”

“I’m a thamatur--!”

Buscarron held up a callused hand and smiled. “Let me finish, okay? I know you’re a good lass. That’s why I haven’t grabbed you by your tail and slung you out of my tavern despite knowing the rumors around here to be true.”

The miqo’te’s sharp ears pressed back as her mouth once again fell open to her defense, but Buscarron’s unwavering smile eventually put her at ease. 

“Listen well, I don’t care what magic you practice or which god you pray to. As long as you’re honest and protecting the Twelveswood, I ain’t got an issue.”

Now with the actual cat out of the bag, Amoret of the Black set down her cutlery and gave a sigh of relief she had no idea she had been holding these past couple of years. “Thank you, Buscarron,” she offered a fanged smile.

“Oh I ain’t done!” he guffawed. “Coerthas ain’t like any other place you know of. It’s a cold and hard land that produces cold and hard dragon-killing knights. I doubt they see miqo’te often even in their outpost towns. So, be prepared to be stared at like a circus animal that sprouted an extra head.”

Amoret winced, knowing full well how ignorant and cruel some folk could still be towards races other than their own. 

“Also,” Buscarron reached out and grabbed the last piece of toast off her plate and took a big bite of it. “They won’t take too kindly to your particular magical practices. So keep your ears down and that average thaumaturge story at the ready. Don’t need to be running into any passing inquisitor out there and be labeled a heretic before being thrown down Witchdrop.”

Wide-eyed and already a bit regretful for having agreed to take this job, Amoret wearily slouched over her strong cup of coffee. “So what you’re saying is that this will not be the vacation I hoped for after that whole kobold and indomitable will of the earth manifestation incident?”

“‘Fraid not,” he grinned ear to ear. 

With all that said, Buscarron rose to his feet and slapped a hand on her table. “Finish up that coffee and I’ll pack you a lunch for the road, lass.”

Amoret groaned loudly as she regained her posture. “Here I thought this would be easy and a good way to shake those Scions off my poor tail. But apparently I’ve damned myself to a snowy hell.”

She reached into the leather satchel at her feet to produce the appropriate amount of gil for both her breakfast and a packed lunch. As soon as Amoret put the coins on the table, Buscarron pushed it away and brushed a hand down the brim of the mage’s comically large hat, playfully obscuring her vision.

“As long as you promise to give that Ishgardian thief and my old friend Ser Alberic a little hell, it's on the house.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's been a very long time since I last tried my hand at fanfiction. So please, be gentle! I'm hoping to get out a chapter every two weeks and basically be as self-indulgent as I possibly can. Estinien Wyrmblood is one of my favorite characters in Final Fantasy XIV, and I look forward to writing him as accurately as possible in romantic and non-romantic situations.


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